


Only Looking to Me

by Driverpicksthemooseic (Ratkinzluver33)



Category: Red Dead Redemption
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, First Kiss, Fix-It, Happy Ending, Late Night Conversations, M/M, Mid-Canon, chapter 4
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-07
Updated: 2018-12-07
Packaged: 2019-09-13 11:11:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,803
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16891488
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ratkinzluver33/pseuds/Driverpicksthemooseic
Summary: He and John were brothers, then. Better than. They did everything together, just like they had since John first came scrambling into camp, young and alone, trailing Arthur's every move like a lost puppy because Arthur was the first person who'd actually bothered to try and keep him alive.Everything's changed, now. But just for today, maybe it can be like it was,feellike it was.(OR, a Chapter 4 Fix-It to heal the soul.)





	Only Looking to Me

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so it isn't the WIPs I'm _supposed_ to be working on, but this game fucking swept me away. As much time as I spend snarking about the fanatical love a lot of gamers have for Rockstar and CDPR, I have to admit they were goddamn right on this one. I'm still fucking shaken up over everything from Chapter 5 onwards, so I decided to write a Chapter 4 fix-it fic with some fluff to soothe me. Seriously, I'm really too torn up over characters that never even existed. Nothing bad happens and everyone lives happily ever after, okay, dammit?
> 
> Hope you enjoy! <3
> 
> (Title from "Brother Louie" by Modern Talking, which my dad, along with "Love My Way" by the Psychedelic Furs, left on loop in the background while I played through RDR2. Now I associate 80's love ballads with Morston. Thanks, Dad.)

"You still haven't celebrated properly," Arthur says, staring down at John, who's stretched out over the new campfire seatcovers Arthur kindly worked his fingers to the bone for.

It's too little past sunrise for John to choke out anything more coherent than, "What?"

"We got Jack back," Arthur clarifies. "I knew you was too shaken up to do anything last night, but seeing that it's been a few hours, it should be about time now."

John looks at him blankly. "Time for what?"

"To go out drinking, dumbass," Arthur says.

The stupid look on John's face doesn't go away. Damn, he mustn't have slept well for days to still be this slow. "In the middle of the day?"

"Yes, in the middle of the day." Arthur grabs him by the shoulders and hauls him up, ignoring John's surprised yelp and dragging him bodily outside of Shady Belle. "C'mon."

John tries to wrestle away, but Arthur's already tensed and expecting it. It reminds him of all the playfighting they used to do, back when things weren't such a goddamn mess, when Dutch had a grounded plan and they weren't running with their tails between their legs. He and John were brothers, then. Better than. They did everything together, just like they had since John first came scrambling into camp, young and alone, trailing Arthur's every move like a lost puppy because Arthur was the first person who'd actually bothered to try and keep him alive. "I just woke up!" John says, and Arthur snaps out of his thoughts.

Everything's changed, now. But just for today, maybe it can be like it was, _feel_  like it was.

"We're startin' bright and early, maximising our time out, see. You'll be back, safe and sound, by nighttime."

John grumbles all the way to the saddle, but he hasn't thrown any punches, so Arthur takes it as a win. "We're heading to Saint Denis," he says, conversational. "Hear the liquor's nice there."

"I ain't got a say in this?" John asks, lips curling, pulling at his still-pink scars.

"I know which places got rats crawling in their shelves. You don't."

"Jesus," John says. "Fine. Lead the way, then."

* * *

The whisky flows like water and doesn't taste like piss, and that's good enough. He doesn't want to waste money the gang might need on something that'll taste just as bad coming back up as it tasted going down. John's reluctant at first, still hesitant around Arthur since he wasn't welcomed with arms open too wide like the Golden Boy deserved, but he loosens up with a few shots in him. Arthur's mad at him, but Christ, if he doesn't miss him. That's why he'd been so sour about it when John came strolling back, because a part of Arthur had been ripped out and gone with him when he left. Now he just regrets it's made things stilted and awkward between them.

Saint Denis has saloons a little less rowdy than Valentine, just quiet enough to leave them to their business, even when John's face is just a blur and Arthur's saying words in the wrong order.

"You two best have had enough now, because we're closing in five," says the man who he thinks is the bartender. "I'll give you a coffee on the house, just 'cause I don't wanna see ya poor dumb bastards lyin' outside in the morning after bein' trampled by your own damn horses."

"Mighty kind of you, Mister..." Arthur struggles to remember the man's name. "Mister..."

"Mister Drink Yer Damn Coffee and Get the Hell Outta My Damn Bar."

Arthur downs his like a shot, but John savours his five remaining minutes. "Good stuff," he says, finally, and licks his lips. They're pink, not sun-darkened like the rest of him, not cracked from the last fight like Arthur's own. "Thanks," he manages, and they stumble towards the door.

"Be safe out there, fellas."

The night air is biting cold, still moist from the godforsaken swamp humidity, making him shiver into his jacket. But it's sobering, and after a few blocks, he's stopped seeing four of everything. John's leaning against him as they make their way to the hitching posts on the outskirts of town, humming and content. "I had a good time."

"Told you you would," Arthur says.

John glances at him, contemplative. "Didn't think I was going to."

"Let's lead the horses a while," Arthur offers. "Think I might fall off if I try to ride now."

"'Kay," says John, agreeable for the first time since... since Arthur can't really remember. They don't disagree, as such, just that John doesn't follow him around like he used to. Really, as of late, Arthur's been doing most of the following, not that he minds. John's idea with the oil wagon was a damn good one. He doesn't care who's following who, as long as they stick together again.

They lead the horses, mud slick and splashing against his poor girl's white hooves. In another life, a White Arabian like that could've been a Braithwaite showhorse, but she was born wild and Arthur likes to keep her that way. Usually, she's twitchy, watchful, but tonight even she's calm, happy to be led on the road to Shady Belle at a steady pace. He and John used to do this a lot, back when they hunted together, trekking slowly through the trees, reins in hand, searching for a good place to camp. John stopped needing Arthur's assistance years and years ago, but he always asked him along anyway, for the company. Two's always better than one when you're miles from civilised country.

"Listen," Arthur says, tongue loose with drink. "I'm sorry about how things went. When you first came back, I mean."

"When you socked me in the face?"

"Yeah. I'm sorry about that."

John sighs. "Why'd you do it?"

"Felt like I had to."

"Why's that?"

"'Cause I was so mad I could've killed you bare-handed, John Marston," Arthur snaps, loud enough to startle a whinny out of the horses. He winces.

"Lots of people have left before," John says. "Some even come back, and you never hit them. Why did I have to be the one to get the special treatment?"

"On account of my having missed you so much I wanted to scream, you goddamn idiot." Arthur groans. "Christ, I'm drunk."

John looks as surprised as the horses. "You punched me like you'd been glad to see me gone. That I was ruinin' things by coming back. The thorn in your side."

"That's not what I meant by it," Arthur pleads. "I was upset. Felt like a betrayal, y'know? We're supposed to be partners. Stick together."

"I had to leave for a while," John says. Arthur knows all of John's tells, knows he means it, every word. "I'm sorry. I never meant to hurt you."

"Then why'd you go and do it then?" Arthur begs. "Why'd you leave?"

John's voice goes flinty, but his gaze shifts nervously back and forth. "You don't want to know."

He's seen death and gore, men hung by their entrails, lynched and swaying from trees. Whatever caused John to turn tail and run will never be as bad as seeing the light leave someone's eyes. He doesn't need patronising. "I think I can handle it."

"I was ashamed, okay?" John growls. "I was ashamed I couldn't stand seeing you happy with  _her._ With Mary. Happier than you'd ever been with us. With  _me._ You was finally gettin' what you always wanted and I couldn't stand a damn second of it."

He blinks, bewildered. "But surely you knew I wouldn't leave. Wouldn't never leave, not even if I wanted to."

"It wouldn't be the same. You'd have her. Everything you had me for, you could get it all from her. Someone better, without blood on their hands."

"Well, not _everything,_ " Arthur says. He can only vaguely gesture at himself, but the flush on his cheeks tells enough of a story for John to catch on to his meaning.

John looks away and swallows. The moon strikes him at an angle, his face half in shadow, half in light. Arthur can see the stubble on his cheeks he's forgotten to shave, the leaf caught in his hair, the dirt smudged under his eye. His face twists. There's the sudden feeling that he's about to say something he can never take back, something Arthur won't ever forget. "Yes. Everything."

A thousand things fly through his mind. A hundred why's and how's and when's running alongside a puzzle that's finally clicking into place. A hundred looks he could never parse the meaning of, a hundred hungry stares Arthur assumed was out of youthful idolatry. Christ, he's been stupid. Oblivious. He doesn't even have the excuse of being sheltered. He's seen it thousands of times before, can read it like a painted sign on men like Trelawny, all flirty winks and sultry words. But John's never been one for subtlety, Arthur didn't think he'd even had the capability for it.

God, he was wrong, so wrong.

He's silent a second too long, because John lets out a dry, broken chuckle. "Yeah, that's why I didn't say anything."

"Wait," Arthur says, without thinking. "Give me a goddamn minute, alright. I'm jus'... surprised, is all."

"Wouldn't have been doing my job right if you weren't."

He doesn't have to ask how long for. John's always looked at him the same way. He still does, even though he's harsher now, rougher around the edges.

He remembers the last time he got this drunk.

_"Well, why ain't you never married?"_

_"No-one would have me."_

Not even Mary. He'd been starting to think no-one would ever. _Could_  ever.

He was wrong about that, too.

He's always noticed John. Never let himself think any further than that. With Mary, he weren't good enough for her, it's true, but at least there had been a chance in hell she might look twice at him. And she had, for a time. But with John, best not to let that go too far, not dwell too long on why he couldn't seem to stop noticing things he ought not to notice. The pretty pink of John's flush when he was embarrassed, the plush line of his lips, the tight stretch of fabric against his ass. Telling himself over and over: don't think about it, don't think about it, don't think about it.

"Funny," Arthur says. "I never could stop thinking about you." Then, he leans in and kisses him.

John's mouth opens with a soft moan, eager. Arthur presses open-mouthed kisses over John's lips, his neck, his collarbone, coaxing out choked off gasps. "Please, John," Arthur says into warm skin. "I need you. Don't leave me again."

"No," says John, panting. "Never."

**Author's Note:**

> AND THE POWER OF LOVE SAVED THEIR LIVES AND THEY LIVED HAPPILY EVER AFTER AND RAISED JACK AND LOVED HIM EVEN THOUGH HE GOT THAT RIDICULOUS GOATEE


End file.
